


Halamshiral Wine

by Follows_swallows



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Cullenlingus, F/M, Light Dom/sub, NSFW, Oral Sex, Public Sex, Smut, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex, an attempt anyway
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-20
Updated: 2017-05-05
Packaged: 2018-10-21 05:04:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,932
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10678266
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Follows_swallows/pseuds/Follows_swallows
Summary: Cullen and Lavellan are not having fun at the Winter Palace. After dealing with marriage proposals and  "over-friendly" Dukes, the pair manage to slip away for some time alone.





	1. Halamshiral Wine

“Ser Cullen, please, Ser Cullen!”

“ _Maker's breath…_ ” Cullen refilled his glass. Another Orlesian noblewoman determined to drive him mad. Another glass of sickly-sweet wine. He'd lost count of how much he'd had tonight. Six glasses? Seven? More? Probably more. It hardly mattered. It drowned out the nattering of the nobility and that was all he longed for.

"Can I help you, my lady?”

He recognized this one. She wore a ruby red velveteen gown embroidered with gold thread and studded with precious gems on the bodice. Her mask was made of pure Tevinter ivory, she explained to him earlier. Perfectly fitted to her face and painted by an old master in Minrathous. Masquerades were popular in the Imperium too, apparently.

“Ser Cullen,” she said, her voice breathy and high pitched, “I’ve seen you. You’ve been watching me all night, your look of jealousy when I danced with Comte Mercier. Maker, I was a fool, his dance meant nothing, it’s you I long for…” she rambled on as Cullen sipped his drink. He’d also lost count of how many young men and women had come to him and professed their undying love, usually followed by (if he was lucky) a request for a dance. Or (when unlucky) an invitation to their chambers.

He’d turned them all down. Insisting that he had either taken a vow of chastity or was an embarrassingly bad dancer. There was only one woman he was willing to make an attempt with. Lavellan’s body pressed to his, the soft chiffon of her dress beneath his hands as they swayed to the music. For someone who grew up in the woods, she had surprisingly good sense of rhythm.

“... But my parents are in discussions with another prominent family…”

The scent of spiced apples. Resting his head of hers, her short, copper hair tickling his nose. One of her delicate hands in his, the other on the back of his neck. She stepped on his toes. They laughed.

“... But the Inquisition has grown so much, perhaps it's not impossible…”

Her voice saying his name. Her Dalish accent sweeter than any song. Her lips on his. Soft as rose petals.

“... our marriage may not be impossible after all,”

“I’m sorry,” he was bright roughly back to the present by the dreaded M-word. Make that six proposals tonight. He cleared his throat.

“I must apologise, Lady-”

“Please, you don’t have to be so formal,” she placed a gloved hand on his arm, “you may call me Amalie,”

“Yes, Lady Amalie. Radiant as you are, I am sworn to the Inquisition.” He said as he stepped back from the young noble, “I’m afraid any affairs of the heart must be put aside until this war is won.” He bent, took her hand and placed a kiss on it, “perhaps in the future.”

Josephine had taught this exact speech to every male member of the Inquisition (the women had been taught something else. He had to ask Cassandra for a demonstration later, just to annoy her). Nauseating as it was, it kept the ladies happy. And happy ladies meant no assassins. Amalie let out a small gasp,

“Y-yes, I will wait for you, my love.” She squeezed his hand before turning and disappearing into the crowd.

He heard a tutting voice from behind him. A voice he recognized only too well. Fia Lavellan refilled her glass from the same bottle he had just used.

“You know, Amalie Rousseau is sixteen,”

Cullen almost choked on his wine,

“Makers balls,” he swore under his breath, making Lavellan laugh, “did I just promise myself to a girl half my age.”

“You filthy, lecherous old man,” they both giggled. He watched her sip from her glass. She looked so beautiful. She was beautiful all the time, of course, but breathtakingly so tonight, her emerald gown clung to her frame in all the right places, fanning out at her knees into a train embroidered with roses. A fine, golden chain circled her neck. A gift from him, although no one else knew about that.

“Did Josephine ask where you got it?”

“What?”

“The necklace?”

“Oh,” Fia reached up and touched it, “yes, I said it was delivered to me with no name. A gift from a secret admirer. Not entirely a lie.”

Cullen laughed, “I suppose not.” He turned. “Come. Walk with me.”

“You're not afraid of rousing suspicions?”

“There's nothing suspicious about the Inquisitor and her Commander walking side-by-side and chatting, surely? What could possibly happen if we go for a walk?”

“I don't know. What could happen, I wonder?”

They made their way through the halls of the Winter Palace, acknowledging their friends when they met. Dorian had attracted a rather large crowd. That wasn't surprising, he was - in his own words - a beautiful and charismatic individual. He frequently reminded both the Inquisitor and Cullen of this fact.

As they entered the vestibule, they spotted Cassandra, who seemed to be having a similar problem to Cullen. She had hoped that attending the ball in a suit, rather than a flashy ball gown may divert attention from her, but her good looks, high rank in the Inquisition, and her royal blood must have proved to much to resist.

“Please, my Lord,” Cullen heard her say, “Give me time. When this war is finished I will give myself to you, and only you. But not yet.” He turned to see Lavellan's faces marred by a frown.

Fia had learned the same little speech. She hadn't used it however. The men who expressed interest in her hadn't wanted romance, a quick grope in a shadowy alcove would have been satisfactory. A firm elbowing to the rib cage informed them that they would not be getting satisfaction from her that night. She hadn't expected the women to be just as bad as the men.

"Please, Inquisitor, we are just admiring your dress." Which explained why three ladies had their hands all over her. The tops of her legs, her waist, just below her breasts. Someone grabbing her ass had been the last straw.

"Ask our ambassador about it. She knows more then I." She'd stormed off, looking for Cullen. Perhaps if she stood next to her Commander, these poncy arseholes would think twice before touching her. It didn't upset her, it was just so bloody _annoying_.

She drained her glass. Leaning on Cullen's arm as she swayed. If she was honest with herself, she probably didn't need that glass. Or the one before. Or the one before that. But fuck it! She’d saved the Empress, she was entitled to a drink. Or seven.

The nobleman bothering Cassandra left her, and the warrior turned to lean on the banister of the staircase she stood beside. The form-fitting suit showed off her long, well-muscled legs. It nipped in at the waist, drawing attention to her breasts and broad shoulders. The suit made her look better then any dress ever could, and by the surly look on her face, she knew it. She glared into her glass, clearly annoyed that her plot to attract less attention from men had done the exact opposite.

“The Seeker looks like she’d rather be alone,” Cullen said, as he guided Fia into the next room. She knew this one well, she'd passed through the Hall of Heroes several times through the night. It was dark. The small braziers on the wall emitted little light to begin with, which was then blocked and turned to shadow by the enormous statues in the hall.

Cullen took the opportunity to reach out and take Lavellan's hand,

“We shouldn't,” she said. But she didn't pull away either. Cullen lead her down the flight of stairs to their right,

“Let's have a closer look at these statues,” he said, “I’ve been stuck in the ballroom the whole night and I’m curious as to what I’ve been missing.”

“Not much.” the elf responded quietly as she pressed herself against his arm, she shut her eyes. The wine had made her lids heavy. “They’re just ugly lion statues, mostly.”

Cullen felt her breasts press against his arm, the warmth of her body radiated through the thin fabric of her dress. He felt his trousers tighten. He lifted his glass to his lips and downed his drink, even though it was almost full. He placed it on the floor.

“Now, now, the walls have ears. We shouldn't be rude.” He said, slurring a little. _How many drinks?_ “Besides, have a look at this statue here,” he pulled her into a particularly shadowy corner.

He stood behind her, wrapping one arm around her waist and placing the other on the bronze lion in front of them. He smiled when he heard her breath hitch in her throat.

“Look at the detail,” he breathed against the shell of her ear, making her shudder,

“ _Gods, he's so close,_ ” Cullen's body was pressed flush to hers, and she could feel the chill of the metal buttons on his jacket pressed against her bare back. She leaned back against him and felt his stubble scratch against her neck, sending shivers down her spine.

Drunken boldness took over as his grip on her tightened and he pressed her against the statue, “It's so dark in here, you'll have to look very closely to see what I mean,”

The hand on her waist balled into a fist scrunching and dishevelling the gown. Cullen breathed in her scent before leaving an open mouthed kiss where her neck met her shoulders.

She sighed as he sucked the sweet spot. The hand he’d been using to point out details on the statue came back to her body. He ran both of them over her, feeling the muscles of her torso and the faint ridges of her rib-cage before arriving at her breasts, he filled his palms with them, gentle squeezes causing her breathing to quicken and fire to ignite inside both of them.

He felt her nipples harden beneath his touch through the thin fabric. He grinned against her as he pinched the hardened peaks,

“Are you cold, my Lady, perhaps you’d like my coat?”

Fia didn't hear him, she was too wrapped up in his hands working her, pinching her, every roll between his thumb and forefinger causing another bolt of lightning straight to her loins. Her own hands came up to Cullen's, forcing him to grope her harder. She felt him smiling against the soft skin of her neck.

“Eager, Inquisitor?” She answered by rolling her hips against him, his cock hardening against her ass, “very well.”

He moved quickly. He released his grip on her breasts and, using one hand to hold her still against the statue, began pulling up her dress,

“Cullen,” she said, her head so delirious with lust and wine she could barely speak, “what if we get caught?”

“Who cares?,” he said, nibbling her ear, “Spread your legs for me, love,”

He ran his hand along her thigh as he pulled up her dress, drinking in her sighs and moans. He kissed her again, tasting beats of sweat already forming on her skin.

Fia was going mad already. “ _Touch me,_ ” she thought, “ _I need you to touch me,_ ” but the words didn't reach her lips, she was too focused on Cullen's hand on her leg, moving painfully slowly towards her core, and his hips grinding against her. His breathing was growing heavier too, the warmth of his breath on her cheek combined with his masculine, musky scent was overpowering “ _stop teasing me,_ ”

Cullen enjoyed this, he never tired of feeling his beloved writhe beneath his touch, panting, gasping, driven wild by desire for him, despite the fact that things never went farther than frenzied hands down trousers. Whenever he tried to take things further she’d freeze, and tell him she wasn't ready.

He understood. But by blessed Andraste, it didn't stop him lusting after her.

His fingers found her thighs already damp,

“Maker, you're soaking,” he whispered, enjoying her whimper, his hand went further.

“And no underwear,” he tutted, “naughty girl,”

He gently - ever so gently - ran a finger along her slit. The reaction was immediate, her hips rolled against his, causing his length to strain against his trousers. He repeated the action, applying a little more pressure this time and was rewarded with another moan and roll of her hips.

He repositioned himself again, bringing the hand on her back around to her front and pushing her forward to trap her between his body and the statue. He forced a hand beneath the silk covering her breast, not caring about the expansive fabric ripping beneath his rough hand. He seeked out a nipple and pinched tightly, making Lavellan shudder, before rolling the sensitive peak between his fingers.

The hand under her skirts found the sensitive bud at the top of her sex. She inhaled sharply as he began tracing circles around it, changing direction every few seconds making her writhe at the change in sensation. He could feel her core throb, spilling her juices over his fingers and down her legs.

Her head rolled back against his shoulder as he worked her clit and pinched the tip of her breast, chest heaving as he left sloppy kisses on her cheek and trailing along her jawline, down her neck and over her shoulders.

His cock strained painfully against his too-tight trousers. He grinded against Lavellan, hoping to gain some relief.

“Oh, Cullen!” She cried, rolling against his length before thrusting her hips into his hand, “Yes, right there!”

He stopped instantly, bringing the hand from her breast to cover her mouth,

“My love, he whispered, deliberately breathing heavily against her sensitive ears, “you must be quiet, or we’ll be caught, and we don't want that, do we?”

She shook her head,

“You’ll be quiet for me?”

She nodded, pushing against him, desperate for more.

He was shocked at himself, who was he to give orders to the Inquisitor? He knew he would never be so bold sober. Perhaps he shouldn't drink so much, or maybe he should drink more? Fia certainly didn't seem to mind him taking control, he ran a finger through her slick folds. Quite the opposite seemed to be true. And he couldn't deny he was enjoying it too, his painfully hard cock was all the evidence he needed.

His hand returned to her nipple as the other continued to slide along her sex. He moved his calloused finger until it reached her entrance. He pressed the against the velvety folds surrounding it, but no further.

“Please, Cullen,” she begged, “please. Inside me. Now.” He couldn't help but smile, she was so delirious with desire that she could barely speak. Desire for him. How could he not oblige her.

He slipped a long finger into her, taking care to keep his palm on her clit. He began pumping his hand, slowly at first, but gaining speed and inserting another digit as Fia became more and more undone beneath his touch. He began curling his fingers, hitting that spot the made her quiver for him.

“Cullen, I can't…” her core pulsed around Cullen's hand, nectar dripped from her as he picked up his pace. She couldn't last much longer, not with his hands between her legs, clutching her breast, his lips on her neck and his breath mixing with hers.

And his thrusting against her, Gods, he was big, the thought of him bending her over, forcing himself inside her. It was too much.

She saw stars as the tension in her loins released and she came like a vice around Cullen's fingers, her wetness flowing over his hand. His name chanted like a prayer as he took her to the heights of pleasure.

Cullen's arms tightened around her, preventing her from falling as her knees when limp, and she felt him smile against her,

“You enjoyed that, I think?” Her only response was a satisfied murmur of his name.

He released her, her clothes falling back into place. She turned to him and he wrapped her in his embrace. She didn't want to leave. She wanted to stay here, where there was no world to save. No Inquisition. Just her and Cullen. Luckily, there was an excuse to remain alone pressing against her.

“You can’t go back to the ballroom in this state,” she said, her hands traveling to the bulge in his trousers.

“It's your fault,” he said with a grin, “you’ll have to fix it.”

Fia smiled as she kissed his cheek, his jaw, his neck, trailing downwards and dropping to her knees. Her hands squeezed him through his pants and he locked his hands into her short hair.

She unfastened his belt and tugged at the fabric keeping him constrained. When her hands touched the soft skin of his length he couldn't help the throaty moan that escaped.

“What happened to keeping quiet?” She asked as she began to pump his long, thick cock.

Cullen could only respond by tightening his grip on her hair. The sight of her, on her knees, face and chest flushed pink and ready to please him. He twitched in her hands.

Lavellan leaned in, parting her lips and glancing up, seeking permission.

He nodded, and she closed the distance between him and her mouth , tasting the salty beads that had gathered on the tip of his cock. She kissed along it, down to the base, before licking all the way back to the tip. She breathed in his scent. It was stronger here, musky and delicious. She raised a hand to cup his balls as she sucked the pink head of his cock, enjoying the saltiness of him on her tongue.

“Maker,” he whispered, “you've done this before,” she shook her head slightly. She circled the head with the tip of her tongue, enjoying his moan as she released him.

“You’ll have to teach me,” her hands reached around to rest on the backs of his legs. “Teach me to please you,” He realized what she wanted - what she was allowing him to do - and he couldn't help but grin.

“Alright, my love,” he lowered her mouth back to his member and her lips parted, he began to slowly thrust his hips, carefully so as not to hurt her.

Her hands squeezed the the backs of his legs as he thrust deeper. She winced as he hit the back of her throat. She gagged, but didn't stop, the sound of his moans, the twitching of his cock in her mouth. Bringing him this much pleasure caused her sex to begin throbbing again. She slipped a hand under her dress, rubbing herself until bliss clouded her mind.

Cullen, however, couldn't last much longer. He picked up the pace of his thrusts and they became more erratic. He felt a familiar pressure building at the base of his cock. His length began to throb harder and he is balls began to tighten.

“F-Fia,” he stuttered, “I’m going to-”

She suddenly pulled back. He released her and she rose to her feet and leaned back against the statue, her dress pulled up, her fluid dripping down her legs and looking utterly divine,

“Inside me,” she said pulling him close to her, breath scented by sweet Orlesian wine and altogether intoxicating, “Please, Cullen, I need you to…” she trailed off, not needing to finish her sentence,

“Are you sure? Here?” He asked. She nodded vigorously.

“I just thought,” he said, “it’ll be our first time. I thought it would be a bit more romantic…”

Fia laughed, “there's nothing more romantic than taking a girl against a statue after saving an Empire,” she pulled him against her, kissing his neck and jaw.

“If you're sure,” he grabbed her leg and pulled it over his hip, exposing her core. He reached between them, pumping himself a few times before lining himself against her entrance,

“You're absolutely certain,”

A nod against his shoulder. Her hands ran through his hair as she sighed his name. He’d never be able to smell spiced apples again without thinking of this moment.

“Cullen?”

“ _Maker! Fuck off, Josephine!_ ”

Cullen looked at Fia in the shadows. They had both frozen, she was looking towards the source of the disturbance. She turned her head and met his gaze.

“What do we do?” She mouthed.

Cullen cleared his throat.

“I'm here, Lady Montilyet, just looking around.”

“Ah! Good, I’ve been looking all over for you,” the sound of high-heels descending stairs echoed around the hall.

“Um, don't come down!” Cullen called, “I’ll be back to the ballroom soon,”

“Actually we’re all going back to our quarters. It's late and the Empress has politely requested the guests return to their rooms.”

“Right,” he set Fia’s leg down. "I’ll head back soon.”

"Please be quick. Goodnight, Cullen."

The clicking of the Ambassadors shoes began again, in the opposite direction this time. Before,

“Actually, Commander, you haven't seen mistress Lavellan, have you? I can't find her anywhere.”

The elf in question began giggling against him. He bit his lip, trying not to burst into laughter himself.

“No, I haven't seen her. Perhaps she has already gone to bed.” he said after regaining control.

“Is everything alright, Commander?”

“Just a little too much wine, I think.”

“Right, well please don't get sick. Sera has already ruined several priceless carpets and we can't afford to pay for statues to be replaced on top of that. Enchanter Vivienne has potions that can help, please speak to her before retiring to bed. And please, if you find the Inquisitor send her straight to bed. There will be guards patrolling the palace soon and I don't want to have to explain why our illustrious leader was wandering around when she shouldn't be.”

“I’ll keep an eye out for her.”

Josephine left. As the sound of her shoes faded Cullen let out a breath he hadn't realized he’d been holding. He smiled at Lavellan, who was running her hands through her hair, trying to make it presentable.

“We better get back.” He said, “We shouldn't stress out Lady Josephine any more than she already is.”

“Cullen,” she clutched his hands as he began tucking himself back into his trousers, “I want-”

“I know,” he said, “I'm disappointed too, but tonight's just not the night.”

She sighed and pouted as he placed a kiss on her forehead and helped her fix her dress. The moment had passed, and they would have to wait a little longer. The haze of wine and arousal was beginning to wear off now, and Cullen was relieved that they'd been interrupted. He wasn't truly convinced that rushed sex against a statue, praying not to get caught was the appropriate way to consummate their relationship.

Plus, if he had gone through with it, it would ruin his plan. He remembered the box he'd brought with him from Val Royeaux.

He offered the Inquisitor his arm.

“Come. I'll walk you.”


	2. Cherry Wine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cullen and Lavellan try to focus on writing their reports on the events of the peace talks. They can't.

Why couldn't reports write themselves.

“I (Commander Cullen Rutherford) arrived outside the Winter Palace shortly after sundown. I accompanied the Inquisitor, Lady Montilyet, and Sister Leliana into the ballroom. We met with the Inquisitor’s inner circle. We then entered the ballroom and greeted the Empress.”

He was a poor writer. He would never forget Varric’s laughter when he asked him for advice to making his reports a little more interesting.

_“There are some people who will always be dry writers, Curly, I can't help you with that. Cassandra’s the same, must be a Templar thing.”_

What was he supposed to write next? Words never came naturally, even when speaking he spent so much time stuttering and filling sentences with “umm”s and “ahh”s that always made him look like an idiot. 

He dips his quill into the pot of ink and returns to his report. 

“I spent the rest of the night being harassed by Orlesian nobles.”

He crosses that out. It would give the Inquisitor a laugh, though. 

The Inquisitor.

_“Maker…”_

He throws his quill down and buries his face in his hands. He’d hoped focusing on this damn report would help him put what happened earlier out of his mind. What a stupid thought that had been. Her warm body pressed to his, panting breaths mixing with his own as he touched her, wine stained lips around his- 

He stands, needs to move. Anything to get her off his mind. He focuses on examining his room. It's marble floor tiles and velveteen curtains, the night stand with a pitcher of water, flavoured with lemon slices. The plush bed that was far too big for one person. It was alright, for an Orlesian suite. Very over-the-top and not to his tastes. But it was warm, the furniture was comfortable, and - he realizes as he steps onto the balcony - the view is breathtaking. 

The forested hills of the Dales look blue bathed in the light of the full moon, and reach far, far into the south. The only way to distinguish where the distant mountains end and sky begins is the appearance of points of light in the velvety darkness. The sky is cloudless, and countless stars glittered, bold against the blackness. He hoped Fia has a similar view. She loves the stars. 

He turns back into his room and kneels by his bed, reaches under and pulls out the small chest he stowed away earlier. 

Luckily no one had noticed his absence when they stayed over in Val Royaux on their journey to the ball, it would be difficult to explain to Leliana or Josephine if he was caught, and even worse if Lavellan had stumbled across his purchases.

He carries it to his desk. He feels a little foolish now. He should have known he wouldn't be able to take up the Inquisitor’s time here. They were here to save an Empress and he’d brought… 

He opens the box and the scent of roses fills the room. He gently moves the flowers to the side, and pulls out a small red box, tied with a silk ribbon. He lifts it to his nose, 

_“Maker, chocolate smells divine.”_ He puts them to the side before he’s tempted to open them. 

The final gift lies at the bottom of the box. He releases a sigh of relief when he finds the bottle of wine undamaged. 

“Orlais’ original cherry wine,” the label declares, “home-brewed to perfection in the Heartlands since 7:63 Storm”

Leliana had teased him mercilessly when he asked where he could find this stuff,

“A sweet wine, Commander?” She’d said, eyebrows raised, “Wasn't it you who said alcohol should be bitter, that if you wanted something sweet you’d have fruit juice?” 

He’d left in a huff, pride damaged after finding the name of the best wine merchant in the Orlesian capital. He’d then gone to Josephine for advice on chocolatiers. She hadn't insulted him, but her curiosity was piqued. He’d never shown an interest in treats before, and the fact that they were a romantic gift...

“Something sweet for someone you're sweet on?” She teased as she wrote down the address in her sloping, elegant hand.

“No, a gift for my sisters.” It hadn't been a lie _entirely_. He would buy some for his sisters. Someday.

The smell of the chocolatiers brought back fond memories. He got chocolate once a year as a child, at Saturnalia. His father would open the box of six brought from Denerim, once for each member of the family. His favorites had always been the dark, slightly bitter ones. But his sisters and mother liked the sweets filled with fruit flavours and caramel. The little box of nine he had held three plain, three caramel, and three raspberry creme. Sweet. Just as she liked her wine. 

He couldn't believe his luck when he found the roses. They had a simple enchantment on them to prevent them wilting without water. He knew enchanted flowers were often sold by the circles - they had a herb garden, why not use it for profit - but with the war, he hadn't dared to hope. 

The wine bottle is heavy in his hand. He twirls it a little, watching the drink swirl inside. What does it taste like, would he be able to pick up the cherries? Or would it be indistinguishable from regular wine? … 

_“No. You’ve had enough to drink tonight.”_ But he removes the cork anyway and brings it to his nose.

Fruit juice with a hint of alcohol. Not to his tastes, but to each their own. He’d already had this discussion with the Inquisitor in the Skyhold tavern.

* * *

“You bring shame on this Inquisition with your womanly drinks!”

“I _am_ a woman,”

They had both had a little too much, and conversation was flowing almost as fast as the drink. 

“There is nothing is better than an ice cold, Fereldan pale ale after a long day training.” 

“Seconded,” Sera interjected, “but not after training or whatever, any time, any place. Booze is booze, and booze is always good.” 

“You're all pathetic,” Bull said, draining his glass and signalling the barkeep. 

“Is drinking pure spirits a demand of the Qun? I remember they drank the stuff like water back in Kirkwall.” 

“You're not that far off, actually, the Qun is all about purpose. The purpose of alcohol is to get you shitfaced, and nothing gets you shitfaced faster than this.” He held up his fresh glass, the colourless liquid shining in the candle light. Bull had shared it earlier. The stuff was tasteless, but you felt it moments after it hit the back of your throat. Not for the faint-hearted. 

“But, truly, Inquisitor.” Cullen said, turning back to the elf, “It’s pink. You can’t be serious-”

“It’s pretty!” Bull and Lavellan said in unison, before bursting into fits of laughter. Another of their long list of inside jokes that he would never understand. Cullen felt a pang of jealousy. 

“Anyway,” Lavellan said, turning back to him, “I drink this because it tastes like strawberries, and I much prefer getting drunk on those then whatever disgusting stuff goes into Fereldan pale ale.” 

* * *

The wine wasn't strawberry flavoured, but if he got the chance to give it to her, he knew she’d enjoy it. He replaces the cork when he hears raised voices coming down the corridor. 

“My lady, please, the Commander has retired to bed and he needs rest, as do you.” 

“Honestly Jim, I appreciate your concern, but I have urgent business with Ser Cullen that cannot wait until morning.”

 _Andraste’s tits._ That was the Inquisitor, and Jim - _fucking Jim_ \- is trying to send her away. 

Cullen is at the door in a heartbeat. 

“Jim!” He roars, Knight-Captain Cullen making an appearance, “How _dare_ you speak to the Inquisitor like that. If you _ever_ step so out of line again, I swear on Andraste’s ashes I’ll find out about it, and you’ll be out of my army faster then you can imagine!” 

“P-Please sir, I only wanted-” 

Cullen glowers at him

“Get out of my sight. I don't want to see you, hear you- Maker, I don't even want to hear _about_ you until we are back at Skyhold.”

Jim makes an odd whimpering sound as he scurries off down the corridor.

“You didn't need to be so hard on him, he’s only trying to help.” Fia says, eyebrows raised at Cullen.

“I know, but he’s so... overprotective. He's like my mother.”

She laughs, 

“He doesn't want the big, bad Inquisitor disturbing the dear Commander's slumber.” 

Cullen rolls his eyes, 

“You said you had urgent business, Inquisitor. Should we get Josephine and Leliana?”

“I lied.” Fia says with a smile, “I just wanted to see you.” 

“Oh!” He feels his cheeks burn “Well, then please come in.” He steps aside, letting her into his room. 

“Your room is smaller than mine,” she says as she looks around. Her eyes lingering on the four poster bed.

“That would be expected.” he hurries to stand in front of his desk, hiding his gifts from view. Thanking the Maker she hadn't spotted them already. “You are the Inquisitor, after all.” 

“Yes.” She says, I suppose it makes sense.” Silence hangs heavy between them. It’s obvious they are both thinking about the same thing. What happened in the Hall of Heroes. 

It wasn't the first time things had gotten heated between them. They found excuses to be alone together, an urgent report that he just _had_ to deliver, or bringing a light meal to his office after he skipped dinner _again_.

Things always escalated. Starting with tender kisses, building up to touches, to grabbing clothes and fistfuls of hair. So many times he'd ended up pulling her into his lap, or backing her up against a desk, both of them ready and wanting. His hands roaming her body, her breasts, her ass, the slit between her legs, any part of her he could reach. _“Maker, she’s divine.”_

And she was just as willing. Her quick fingers undoing the laces of his breeches, eager to touch him, bring him as much pleasure as he brought her. She wasn’t like so many other women, who found putting their mouths _there_ embarrassing or degrading. Rather, she revelled in it. Eagerly kissing, sucking, running her hands on his cock in a way that made him delirious with pleasure. That wicked throat that took him _deep_. Fucking her mouth was like nothing else he'd ever experienced, and her face covered in his seed was one of the most beautiful sights in Thedas. 

But they always stopped. _She_ always stopped. 

_“I can’t, I’m sorry Cullen. I'm just not ready,”_

He accepted it, even if he didn't know why. He wanted her. He wanted her so badly it hurt. But he would never do anything to her against her will. He would never hurt her. Never. Never. Never. 

“I tried to start writing my report for this evening.” Cullen is pulled back to the present by Fia’s lilting voice. “I couldn't focus, too much has happened tonight.” 

“I know, I tried to do the same thing but all I could think of was…” 

_“You coming around my fingers. Your mouth around my cock. Your legs spread, begging me to take you against a statue where anyone could find us,”_

He clenches his fist and swallows, hoping the bulge in his trousers isn't too obvious. 

“I'm sorry,” she says softly, wringing her hands and looking away, “what I did tonight, asking you too… I shouldn't have put you on the spot like that. You've always been so considerate, and tonight I didn't even think of how you felt, or if you wanted… _that._ ” He could hear the guilt in her voice. “I don't deserve you.” 

“Don't feel bad about it,” Cullen says with a smile, moving forward to take her in his arms. She’s tense, clearly this has been playing on her mind, “I rather enjoyed it,” he whispers, making her shiver. She relaxes instantly.

“I'm glad.” She’s never happier than when she's wrapped in his arms, listening to his steady heartbeat through his shirt. “You seemed uncomfortable when I asked. I had to make sure I hadn't upset you, that's the last thing I ever want to do.” 

“I know,” he says. “I just thought you would want it to be more romantic. Flowers, chocolates, the whole works. My hesitation was because I didn't want you to regret it, not because I didn't want to.” 

He’s surprised when she laughs. 

“Cullen, did you forget that I grew up in the woods? I didn't know flowers were supposed to be romantic until Josie told me, and I’d never even heard of chocolate before living in Haven.” 

Cullen had a tendency to forget that, despite the things they have in common, despite his love for her, there would always be differences between them. 

“You’d never heard of chocolate?”

She shakes her head.

“The first time I saw them was in Josie's office, but I couldn't ask for one. She said they were expensive, and that she loved them. I'd feel guilty.” 

“So you've never?..”

“Tasted it? No.”

Cullen lets her go and walks back to his desk. He'd never get a better excuse then this. 

“I… um…” he gathers the flowers and the little ribbon-wrapped box. “I got you these in Val Royeaux. I didn't think I'd give them to you tonight, after all that's happened. But…” he trails off, his heart thudding in his chest. Maker, he shouldn't be this nervous. He wasn't a boy anymore. Surely he should be able to give a woman a gift without feeling like he was about to pass out. 

Fia steps forward and reaches for the gifts, her fingertips brushing the petals of the bouquet and the silk ribbons tying the box. 

“Cullen, I…” Her voice is shaking, and her eyes look particularly shiny, _Maker please don't cry._

“I don't know what to say,”

“I haven't offended?”

“Creators, no,” she wipes her eyes “this is the sweetest thing anyone's ever done for me.” 

Cullen's cheeks burn again. “I'm glad you like them,”

She comes closer and presses her lips against his. They were always soft and vaguely sweet. _Divine._

“I have something else,” he puts the flowers and chocolates back on his desk and shows her the dark green bottle of wine, “it’s made of cherries. I know you don't like regular wine.”

“Are you trying to get me drunk again, Commander?” She says with a laugh. 

“Not at all,” he uncorks the bottle and holds it out to her, “I don't have any glasses, I'm afraid.”

“It hardly matters,” she takes the bottle and inhales its fruity scent. She pours a sip into her mouth. Cullen watches and waits, eager to hear her thoughts. She ponders over the flavours for a moment before nodding in approval. 

“Delicious,” she says, holding out the bottle, “have some.” 

“No thank you, I don't think I’d like it,” 

“I think you would. Inquisitor's orders.” 

Cullen laughs. “Well now I can't say no.” 

He takes the bottle, his fingers brushing against hers, and lifts it to his lips. She’s right, although it certainly wasn't what he’s used to, the sweetness of the cherry and bitterness of the alcohol contrast nicely. Yes, he could drink this. He takes another sip.

“I chose well,” he hands the bottle back to Fia and returns to his desk chair, leaning back into the silk cushions. He knows the softness of the chair isn't why he's able to relax. Her presence is calming, soothing. Whenever he's worried, or when the lyrium withdrawals are at their worst, she's always able to ground him. It's just part of her nature, he guesses.

He watches her slowly pacing the room as she sips from the bottle.

“The wine downstairs was awful,” she complains, “and I’m certain it was watered down. Do you know how much of the stuff I had to drink to feel anything? And it wore off far too quickly. Poor Bull probably drank gallons of the stuff and felt nothing.” 

“So you agree with Bull, the worth of a drink is determined by how quickly you can get drunk.” 

She hesitates “Sometimes. It also depends on how good it tastes.” 

“I suppose that's important.” 

“It's very important,” she says as she approaches him, “It shouldn't be a chore.”

She lowers herself onto his lap, 

“Here, have some more.” Cullen takes the bottle from her and swallows another mouthful. As he drinks, Fia nestles into him, resting her head in the crook of his neck, one hand lying across his chest. Her apple scent was just as strong as it was earlier. 

He tries not to think about what happened between them as he wraps his arm around her waist, feeling the warmth of her body and the rise and fall of her breaths beneath the silk of her dress. Blood rushes to his loins. Maker, he was a weak, weak man.

“You looked so beautiful tonight,” he say softly, 

“Thank you, you were very handsome. As the entire court noticed.” Cullen rolls his eyes,

“These damn Orlesians just refuse to take no for an answer,” 

“They better learn to,” Fia says with a soft smile as she kisses him.

The taste of berries is strong on Cullen's lips, rich and sweet and delicious, causing an unintended moan. He tenses, and tightens his grip on her waist. 

She takes his lower lip between hers, giving a gentle suck before the tip of her tongue finds his. Cullen smirks and breaks off,

“You know if you want more wine you can have some,”

“I'd rather get it from you, thank you.” 

He feels himself growing harder in his trousers. He deepens their kiss, running his tongue over hers. If she wants to taste him, she is more than welcome. The only sounds he hears are small, breathless pants, gasps and her breath catching in her throat.

She shifts, moving from sitting in his lap to straddling him, her dress hitching up around her waist. Her fingers run through his hair, grabbing his curls. His hand moves roughly over her body, desperate to evoke another moan, a sigh, make her say his name-

_Crash._

The bottle of wine slips from between his fingers, shattering on the marble floor, seeping into a nearby carpet.

“We should get that,” he begins to say.

“No, we shouldn't.” 

Her mouth was back on his, insistent, parting his lips with an impatient tongue. He groans against her, gathering her in his arms, clutching at that damned silk that kept their skin from touching.

His kisses always made her feel like this, like she was on fire. Heat pooling in her lower belly, her core throbbing with want as the bulge in his trousers presses against her sex. Her hands slide down his jacket, unfastening the buttons, desperate to feel his skin beneath her hands. His chest has become familiar to her. Hard plains of muscles dusted with blond hair and crisscrossed by old wounds that, if anything, just made him more beautiful. 

Heavy, heaving breaths mingle in the space between them. 

“Maker… I want to…” his thoughts are barely coherent at this point, “I _need_ to…”

“Me too,” 

It was the response he’d waited for for so long. His lips crash against hers, before moving to her cheek, her jawline, _anywhere_ , his hands tearing at the fabric of her clothes. _“Get off.”_

Understanding what he wants, she rises from his lap and pulls the laces keeping the dress clinging to her. It pools at her feet, and she smiles at Cullen’s gasp. 

He touches her while remaining in his seat, gripping her thighs, her rear, moving along her waist and up to her breasts, rolling the rosy tips between his thumb and forefinger. Her head tips back and her gasps fill the room. Cullen's cock twitches, demanding attention, and a small patch of his trousers darken with pre-come.

He can't help leaning forward. Kissing her belly, her hip bones, the skin just about the patch of copper curls covering her sex. 

As he rises from his seat he lifts her into his arms. Her legs around his waist, arms around his neck. 

“Show off,” she whispers in his ear, soft breaths sending lightning through his body, straight to his loins. 

The fronts of his legs hit the bed, and he lets her fall across the silken sheets before climbing over her. 

Maker, for so long he’d longed to see her like this, naked, laid bare and ready for him. How many times had he pleasured himself to this very image when she was away. Imagined thrusting into her while she screamed his name, nails digging into his back as he fucked her...

And now…

Her breasts rising and falling with her panting breaths, her pupils blown as she drank him in. His hand trails down her cheek, over her throat, traces her collarbone before cupping her breast. Her eyes close and her back arches, pushing into him and pressing her core against his thigh. 

He feels her wetness seep through his trousers as she rolls her hips against him. Every pinch of her nipple causes another, harder grind. He lowers his mouth to her other breast and sucks.

“Creators, Cullen,” 

He sucks harder, circling the bud with his tongue, feeling the skin around the hardened tip begin to pebble. He settles between her legs and ruts against the mattress, trying to relieve some of the aching in his loins. 

Her hands lock into his curls, holding him closer. Gods, she’s never been this ready before in her life. She’s never _wanted_ someone so badly. Every suck, every bite and pinch on her nipples causes the muscles in her lower belly to clench, her cunt to throb, she _needs_ to be touched. 

“Cullen, will you?..” 

He understands instantly, and begins to move towards her core. Trailing kisses down her belly before lying in front of her cunt. He throws her legs over his shoulders, making her squeal in surprise. 

Cullen smiled as he places a biting kiss on her thigh. Her hands returned to his hair and she shivers in anticipation. 

“Eager, Inquisitor?” 

Her only response is a strangled moan as his tongue parts her slick folds, tasting the honey that practically pours from her. He seeks out the sensitive bud at the top of her cunt, swollen and begging to be kissed, licked, sucked. He begins to work. His tongue circling her clit, before quickly changing direction, flicking over it, the differing sensations making her pant and whisper his name. 

“Cullen, finger…” 

How could he deny her? Still sucking her clit, he drags a finger through her soaking folds, finding her entrance. He traces the edge, making her shudder. She lets out a moan from deep in her throat as a long, calloused digit slides inside her. Maker if it isn't one of the loveliest sounds he’s ever heard, low, and so full of want. Want for _him_. She is _his_. 

The thought makes him pick up the pace.

Gods, she’d never known pleasure like this. Her eyes open to watch, his hair wild, eyes closed as his mouth works between her legs. Every kiss, every flick of his tongue, taking her closer to finishing, her walls tightening around his finger as it rubs the most _perfect_ spot. 

“Yes… There… I love you… _Gods_!”

He groans as she urges him on, hips rolling against his mouth. Oh, the things that mouth could do. He slips another finger inside and thrusts into her, faster, rougher than before. He comes away from her clit and meets her gaze,

“Come for me,” 

His words are almost enough to push her over the edge, her hand seeks out his, their fingers entwine. Just a little more. He thrusts his fingers, in and out, in and out, driving her mad. 

“Maker, please, I need to see you…” his hot breath against her soaking core, a sudden, final kiss. 

Her head falls against the pillow, back arching as she comes, stars dancing in front of her eyes, crying his name for all the world to hear. His fingers continue to pump and he smiles against her as she rides out her orgasm. 

When the vice-like grip on his hand slackens he stops moving, peppering her thighs with kisses. 

“Did you enjoy that, my lady?” 

An approving moan followed by a giggle,

“I did, but…”

“You want more?” 

He sees her nod. He moves upwards, positioning himself above her, his cock twitches impatiently. 

He kisses her, lips parted and tongues wrapping around each other as a hand reaches between them, undoing his laces and pushing away the remainder of his clothes. He runs a hand over his length, spreading the beads of pre-come over the sensitive head. He moans against her mouth, longing to be inside her. 

He rubs his cock against her slit, making her gasp when it touches the over-sensitive bud. He positions himself against her entrance, it takes all of his self discipline not to push in and ravish her, 

“ _Control, Rutherford,_ ” 

Her small hands travel across his shoulders and come to rest on the back of his neck. She pulls him closer, kissing his cheek, his jawline, the shell of his ear. Words aren't necessary. 

Slowly, he slides into her. 

Maker, she’s tight. Her breath hitches in her throat and she stiffens and shudders. 

“I'm not hurting you?”

“Not at all. You're just… bigger… than what I’m used to.”

He stays still, allowing her to adjust to him, before slowly rolling his hips. Her gasps become moans, and her arms tighten around him as she begins crying out in pleasure. 

She grips his shoulders, the muscles of his arms and back ripple as he rocks into her. One hand runs along his back, feeling the subtle difference between skin and old scars. She forgets how strong he is - that he's a soldier - when his touches are this gentle. She buries her face in the crook of his neck, kissing his sweat soaked skin, crying out every time he fills her.

“Faster,” she pants, “harder, more,”

He speeds up his thrusts into her velvety heat, warm and tight and soaking for him. Her core pulses as he fucks her, his mouth sucking the soft skin of her neck. He couldn't care less about the marks that will be visible come morning, he's too lost in the salt on her skin and the musky smell of sex in the air. 

One of his hands reaches down and grips her arse, pulling her hips to a different angle, giving him greater access to her cunt, allowing him to penetrate deeper. His breathing is coming in heavy pants now, and sweat builds on his brow, he can't last much longer. 

He fucks her hard and fast, the wet sound of skin hitting skin mixing with their gasps and moans. He wants to see her face, how she looks as he takes her, but her arms are too tight, nails digging into his back and legs holding him deep inside her. 

She bites her lip, the half-pain, half-pleasure of his cock stretching and filling her drives her mad. She can't think, can't speak, all she wants is the sweet release she feels building in her loins, coiling like a spring. 

She cries his name with every sharp, rhythmic thrust into her sopping heat. His cock burying balls deep inside her with every roll of his hips, the tip touching the mouth of her womb. Her hips buck wildly and he knows how close she is. His hand finds hers, fingers entwine and grip tight. She can't take any more.

She comes for the third time that night, intense and bright and burning, pleasure she never thought possible racks her body. Her core tightens around Cullen as she calls out his name

“Maker,” she comes so hard - so tight - it almost hurts. He gives a few final thrusts and he’s there too. Lightning runs through his body, balls tightening and pressure in the base of his cock releases as hot streaks of his come spill deep inside her. He couldn't have pulled out even if he'd wanted to, the tightness of her cunt and her legs around his hips wouldn't have let him. 

Her body goes slack as the blinding ecstasy of her orgasm fades. Panting breaths and sweat mix together, the pressure of Cullen's body on hers, his cock still half hard inside her and the warmth of his seed in the pit of her belly. She’s never been happier. 

Cullen leans on his elbows and kisses her softly. 

“I love you,” he says, running a hand through her hair, brushing it out of her eyes. 

“I love you too.” 

They lie together for a while, enjoying the afterglow of their love-making. 

"Thank you for the gifts," she says quietly, "It's a pity about the wine though."

"I'm probably going to get in trouble for it," he laughs, "Josephine will have to add another item to the list of carpets ruined by the inquisition this evening," 

"I hope we didn't damage that statue," Fia says with a yawn, "You weren't exactly careful." 

"I'm always careful with you," he teases, kissing her cheek. She smiles as her eyes close. 

Cullen sits up, pulling his length out of her. trying not to disturb her too much as she falls asleep. As he does he sees some of his seed spill from her, through her folds, and into the silken sheets. There's something primal about it, coupled with the red marks on her neck, breasts, and thighs where he's been sucking, kissing, biting. She’s his, _only_ his. 

He reaches out and touches the inside of her thigh. He shouldn't disturb her. He _shouldn't_.

“Cullen,” her eyes are still closed, “are you?” 

His cock is half hard again and he takes it in hand, giving it a few pumps until it stands fully erect. He places hungry, open-mouthed kisses against her collarbones and in the crook of her neck as he lies between her legs, his length pressing against the inside of her thigh. 

She sighs as she gives in to him, but she's smiling. “You're so _needy_!” 

She’s not complaining, however, when he ravishes her for the second time that night. Or the third time. Or the fourth. By the time the sun rises any thoughts of irritating nobility, bad drink, or ruined, wine-stained carpets are long forgotten.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Done! Hope y'all enjoyed reading this as I enjoyed writing it. Feedback is very much appreciated. <3

**Author's Note:**

> idk my dudes. After reading unscalable mountains of smut I decided to try writing some of my own. Who knows if it worked ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯ I'd appreciate feedback. 
> 
> This is part 1 of 2


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